"Yes, Her Highness is a real hero," Lily said, nodding. "If not for her... I didn't even see the bolt, but it was aimed at Her Majesty, wasn't it?"
Altres nodded sharply.
"Yes...those bastards!"
"Is it a secret?" Lily asked.
Altres waved his hand.
"Oh, Maldonaya take this secret! Tomorrow, the whole of Cardin will know it!"
Lily listened closely, her head low.
"We didn't get all of them. Alcine wasn't acting alone. Several people...well, not quite supported him, but wanted to use him in their interests. I take it they planned on removing him later and replacing him with one of their own men."
"Overthrowing a tyrant and a usurper."
"And the heir, well, they could work with him. He's just a child. They'd marry him off to someone suitable and rule the country."
Lily nodded.
It wasn't a novel idea; history knew cases such as that, or even more convoluted.
"If Her Majesty were killed..."
"They would have blamed me. I can't say I would have taken the fall, but it would present certain problems."
Lily nodded.
She saw the big picture. One thing was ruling with the consent of the queen while she was alive. Essentially usurping power was quite different. Altres would risk a lot.
But the conspirators had just lost one more hook. There was a good reason why Milia had mentioned raising children. Lily remembered Louis XIII and Cardinal Richelieu: a weak ruler and a powerful advisor. And how would one make a ruler weak? Raise him as such. Parties, wine, hunting, women—there was a key to every heart, and Milia was one hundred percent correct. If she managed the state, who would manage her children?
The twenty-first century wasn't much different. When parents dedicated themselves to their career a bit too much, leaving their children to be raised by someone else, there was a good chance they would never see eye-to-eye with them later, if ever.
With Milia as the regent, the conspirators could have influenced the upbringing of the children through nannies and maids. Having realized that it would be impossible, they resorted to Plan B.
Lily wondered about how many other plans they might have and immediately asked Lort.
Altres sighed.
"I'll dig into that. I'll do everything I can."
Lily didn't doubt that such excavation would significantly diminish the overall number of nobles in Wellster. Well, such was his job: digging something up and burying someone under.
Mercy? Pity?
Oh, absolutely.
As soon as the enemies die, Lily would feel sorry for them. No earlier than that.
Virma, the lands of Clan Gardren.
Bran Gardren was kneeling, silent.
He wasn't praying or invoking his patron; it was of no use, the latter particularly. Yell as much as you want, but Holosh would never answer with words. As for deeds... weren't there enough deeds for Bran already?
He could even add some; there was a reason why he was called the God of Deceit.
Nobody bothered Bran. He had come alone.
Someone, however, had come before, having buried the dead and put up small tombstones.
Bran touched one of the stones with his fingers. His eldest son was lying there, his father's pride and joy. He had been so happy to have him...
He had only Ian and Hilda left…and Angelina, too. The fragments of his old life…the dream of a new one.
But why were you so merciless, Holosh?
He could have passed the reigns to his eldest son and left...he could have. But no, lying to your own self was pointless. If Holosh hadn't snapped all threads binding Bran to his homeland, he would have never found the strength to do it.
He would have let his beloved go, convincing himself that it would be for the better, and stayed, continuing plotting and scheming.
He would leave, likely never to return. Bran felt it. Would it be good or bad?
Gods worked in mysterious ways, Holosh most of all. Bran had no hope of understanding; how could he? All he could do was to follow the path set for him.
Rituals? No, he wasn't thinking about them. It's just, sometimes, the gods gave you signs. That's what it was. If he tried to avoid the road shown to him, something even worse might happen. Bran wasn't going to risk his remaining children and the woman he loved.
He was standing silent, asking for forgiveness from those he had been unable to save. He was too reckless, too thoughtless. too shortsighted.
How would his life turn out after all of that? Whatever happened, he knew he would stay with Angelina. Even if the king decided to execute him, Bran would spend his final moments with her.
He had things to take to Ativerna; money from the caches, some documents... He would give the latter to Olav, or at least those that concerned Virma. As for the rest... The rest Bran would take with him.
Island or mainland, it didn't matter. He would serve Holosh anywhere. The god of trickery, deceit, intrigues, branching paths...he had many names, but that wasn't what was important. Serving was more than rituals and ceremonies; more often than that, it was life spent the way the gods wanted you to.
Bran would do it. He might even have more children; Angelina would definitely want them. Would he deny his beloved? No. He wouldn't want that, anyway. If she had accepted his deformity, she would accept any children of his; there was no doubting that.
His Angie, his ray of sunlight, his happiness... And happiness was to be protected and cherished.
Late that night, Bran loaded several chests in the cart, once again scanned the ruins of his home, and left Gardren forever.
He would give those lands to Olav so someone worthy might get them. They would discuss it later: who would get them, how, for what service...
He would settle his remaining affairs in Virma and leave.
He and his men rode at night, and it was a good thing. In this way, nobody could see Bran's face.
After all, Gardrens didn't cry, and neither did servants of Holosh.
But tears kept falling, unable to stop.
Wellster, Cardin.
Bread and circuses. It was the same in all times: bread and circuses.
Coronation managed to combine both of them, and the circus was a real spectacle. Most people got to see one or two coronations in their lifetime.
The townsfolk met the announcement with a cheer.
King Edwin was known to most, having been seen riding across the capital with his father, the beloved King Gardwig. A king meant order and stability.
A regent?
Why would commoners care about such things?
Nobody was going to ask them or inquire about their opinion. They would never get anything good from that.
Still, the people were glad to hear about Count Lort being in charge.
The old king had trusted him, and the troubles only started after his departure.
After all, wolves didn't kill mice. Altres Lort might be a pain in the rear for the nobles, and why would commoners like the nobles?
They didn't.
And so, people started staking out seats as early as the previous day. The big square in front of the main temple of Cardin began filling out even earlier, while the owners of the nearby houses once again lined their pockets with gold, selling out top spots on their balconies and roofs. Peddlers scurried around, selling their wares.
Both they and the pickpockets had a successful day ahead of them.
Torches burned, and people called each other back and forth.
Tradition dictated the king to be crowned at dawn, as the crown was supposed to be placed on his head with the first rays of sunlight. The route of the royal procession was well-lit, making it as bright as day.
The cathedral itself was packed to the brim. Some had been present since the previous night. The balcony, the choir loft, and the aisle were still empty, intended for the noble lords and ladies who would enter together with the king.
Being a par
t of the royal procession at the coronation was a big honor. For the rest of their lives, those nobles would carry a scarlet and golden rose on their shoulder, the symbol of the king.
The center of the cathedral was occupied by a throne: big and pompous, it was draped with gold cloth, glancing invitingly in the flickering torchlight. Only its back was plain and made of wood.
The platform the throne stood upon was also covered with brocade: scarlet and gold, the royal colors.
People knew that the throne was made of the wood that hid the first of the Wellsterian kings. Legend said that he had been a knight-errant wandering the world, helping the helpless, protecting the meek, and overall leading a valiant life. Once, chasing a gang of bandits, he found shelter under an oak.
There, a herald of Aldonai (by some accounts, a fairy, but the church disapproved of that version) manifested to him and ordered the knight to found a kingdom in that place, promising him luck in such a godly pursuit.
Truthfully, the story worked better with a fairy. Supposedly, the knight married her, thus starting the royal dynasty. After their death, the old oak fell down, and their son, the second king, ordered to make a throne out of it. Later, the throne was given to the church and was used to crown the future generations of kings.
Now the version with a herald of Aldonai told that the knight was promised a faithful and devout wife and a dynasty that would last centuries.
Maybe there was a drop of truth in those stories? Nobody could say for sure.
***
The people were waiting.
A while later, ladies started dropping in, charming and resplendent, in fabulous dresses, wearing as much jewelry as the ceremony permitted. They took their places, their servants fussing over them—the ladies couldn't stand like commoners, could they? They needed stools (one of nine types, depending on the title and the ancestry), footrests, prayer books, and fans...
The ladies knew that they were a part of the show thrown for the lowborn, but still refused to notice commoners, pretending not to hear how the latter judged their looks, their dresses, and their accessories or shrewdly discussed whom each lady would marry and what her dowry would be.
The common folk knew everything. Those who thought that poverty meant stupidity were completely mistaken. All too often, the rich were dumber than those they looked down on.
Finally, the last of the ladies filled her spot.
Wives and daughters, mothers and grandmothers, some of the latter still remembering His Majesty Gardwig's late father—everyone was there, as long as they lived in the capital.
Ambassadors and their retinues had a special area allocated to them, and they slowly took their places as well.
Just like the ladies, they were dressed to impress and bedecked with jewels, sparkling in the torchlight, sometimes even hurting the others' eyes.
The only exception was the Ativernan ambassador.
Marquis Losan was one of the few men who was permitted to sit. Still, the people were forgiving of him: everyone knew that during the coup, the marquis had been captured and tortured and simply couldn't stand, just as several dozens of other noblemen.
They couldn't be a part of the royal procession, but they immediately took their seats in the cathedral, which was as much of an honor as parading through the streets.
The audience whispered.
Aldon Peters entered the hall.
Usually, the servants of Aldonai were supposed to dress modestly. That day was different.
The aldon's robe was made of expensive velvet, while the golden holy symbols he carried were studded with diamonds. The priests that followed him wore gold as well. Sparkling censers, glistening staves...
His Majesty's crown was carried inside separately.
So who was holding the ancestral crown of Wellster?
Merciful Aldonai!
That had never happened in the entire history of the kingdom.
The crown was carried by His Majesty's eldest sister: Princess Maria.
The people knew her story, too: her escape from the usurper, her sneaking into Fort Shedar to inform everyone about his plans, her defending the walls together with the soldiers...
The last rumor made Altres Lort stop, but eventually, he let it go.
You can't have too much of a good thing. Let them be proud of their princess. In any case, she would leave soon, and the crown was still supposed to be carried by a relative of the king, even if usually a male one. Instead of finding a cousin many times removed on unknown character, he'd rather bestow that honor to Her Highness.
Maria had to expend a lot of effort to recover and take part in the ceremony.
Even Lilian's tongue-lashing didn't give her pause, but at least, the countess had insisted on bringing the doctoruses with her. She also warned both the princess and Count Lort that she wasn't responsible for any problems that might arise.
Still, that was a coronation. Nobody could miss it for the world.
At last, the clerics took their places, and the people held their breath.
All that remained was to listen…listen and wait.
As if living up to their expectations, they heard a cadenced drumroll and the sound of trumpets coming from outside.
The royal procession was close.
While it was still dark, His Majesty was supposed to leave his palace and, together with his loyal servants, walk the streets of Cardin and enter the cathedral.
That was intended as a test of sorts: if Aldonai didn't accept the king, he would never reach the temple.
Altres Lort, however, didn't rely on Aldonai's protection and instead had tightened the security along the route.
He could have pegged something like an earthquake or a flood for divine will, but definitely not an assassination attempt.
He was sick and tired of that.
Finally, Prince Edwin entered the cathedral. Immediately, everyone stood up—or rather, the nobles did, as the commoners were already standing.
Only those people who couldn't stand remained sitting, but the others were lenient of them.
People gazed into the faces of the newcomers.
There was His Highness, who would soon become His Majesty.
Count Lort stood behind his back.
The queen mother had a baby in her hands. But who was it next to her? Who was holding the second prince?
It was a woman.
The people looked closer and recognized her golden braids and the colors of the Earton family, calming down. One couldn't gag every mouth; it didn't just work for dirty gossip.
A word here, a sentence there, and people learned who had saved their third prince and helped the queen flee.
Lilian had the complete right to carry the second prince.
Poor Edwin, however, had to walk on his own, while Corin and Gardwig were nestled comfortably in women's hands.
Usually, foreigners weren't allowed to take part in such ceremonies; their place was in the audience. Still, nobody dared to say a word.
Lort, Chantaine, Olsen, Her Majesty, Her Highness...
The list of those "in favor" had a lot of impressive names. How could one argue against them? That could result in losing your head.
The courtiers from the procession entered the hall and took their spots, while royal guards lined up against the walls, flashing gold and steel. Yes, they were the very same men from Count Chantaine's regiment.
Music started, although the tune was far from refined: drums, trumpets, and timpani.
There was no room for other instruments at that moment. Those were the rules. That's how it was to be done.
Edwin knelt in front of the throne, and the ceremony began.
First came a prayer, then the ritual anointment, and finally, the crown was laid upon his head. Lilian was the only one to notice how pale Princess Maria was, but she still kept her chin up, only relaxing when the crown (a smaller, lighter version that existed for such cases) took its place on her brother's head.
Aldon a
sked the ceremonial questions, and Edwin replied in a clear and loud voice. Milia had prepared him well.
People watched adoringly.
The sword.
The scepter.
The mantle.
And finally, the throne.
A small footrest had been put so His Majesty wouldn't completely be lost in the vast golden expanse.
Everyone in the cathedral fell either on one knee (for the nobles) or both. Ladies dropped in a low curtsey.
The lawful king had been enthroned.
"The king is dead. Long live the king!" Lily whispered. She was one of the few not to bow, still holding Cor.
The people saw that.
Lily became a target of jealous stares, although only a few. Everyone knew that she was from another country and would leave instead of using the royal favor to better her position. They just needed to wait. The only thing she would reap was glory.
Of course, the countess would be mentioned in the annals and stories, but why would a practical person care about that? Old parchment couldn't feed anyone.
Edwin slowly stood up and spoke the words of the oath, swearing to take care of his country, keep peace and order, be the first to rise to Wellster's defense, and put its interests before his own. The oath was long, taking up almost a page. Milia had him study it over and over, which is why the coronation had to be delayed.
There was also the matter of an investigation and the princess' recovery, of course. But at least everything went smoothly.
Edwin slowly walked out into the streets, accompanied by cheering. People shouted in happiness, throwing flowers under the boy's feet, while a shower of gold coins spilled on the crowd as a symbol of a long and prosperous reign.
Hurray to the king!
***
The evening welcomed the coronation ball. It had its own set of strict rules with a ceremonial dinner with specific dishes.
Ironically, the king himself wasn't present. Instead, he was represented by Milia, while the boy, exhausted over the day, was sleeping like a log under the supervision of his loyal nanny—and ten trusted guards, of course. After the assassination attempt, Altres Lort herded almost all of Chantaine's regiment into the palace.
Lily felt like a pig inside Buckingham Palace. Even her husband sitting next to her and cheering her up with a smile didn't help. She understood everything, but that wasn't her scene.
The Road of Kings: A Strong Woman in the Middle Ages (A Medieval Tale Book 8) Page 31